


You're My Morning Person

by tinydancer



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:09:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinydancer/pseuds/tinydancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since it’s sleep-in Thursday, Ian’s only slightly concerned as to why Mickey’s not in bed. He had been looking forward to the sex, and then teasing Mickey into reluctantly cuddling like he always does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're My Morning Person

**Author's Note:**

> I orginally posted this on tumblr as a response to mhunter10's sentence prompt: "Do you smell toast? Because I think you're having a stroke." But like the rebel I am, there are no strokes involved in this little ficlet, and instead I made it disgustingly gooey and fluffy (◕‿◕✿)

Ian turns over and finds Mickey’s side of the bed empty. This wouldn’t be so unusual… except that it’s Thursday morning, and Thursday mornings have always been their sleep-in day. It’s the only day of the week that Mickey’s morning shifts and Ian’s own training doesn’t correlate with their free time together. They usually spend these mornings with lazy, languid blowjobs or just enjoying the mid-morning sun that filters through their tiny little bedroom window, for once wrapped up in each other’s arms instead of one of them rushing out the door as soon as the alarm sets off.

Since it’s sleep-in Thursday, Ian’s only slightly concerned as to why Mickey’s not in bed. He had been looking forward to the sex, and then teasing Mickey into reluctantly cuddling like he always does. (“Fuck off, Gallagher it’s not cuddling. Milkoviches don’t _cuddle_.” “Oh yeah? So your arms just happened to _somehow_ make their way around my waist… and your nose is _magically_ buried under my chin, all on it’s own?” “Shut the fuck up, and hold me. I’m freezing my balls off here.” “Pfft, it’s not even that cold in here.”)

But Ian’s still too tired to get worried or anything, so he closes his eyes and waits for Mickey to come back to bed… that is, until he hears a crash coming somewhere from the kitchen area, followed by a loud “Shit!”

Ian immediately sits up, but he doesn’t bother getting out of bed. Their apartment is small enough so that he only has to raise his voice a little and Mickey will still hear him. “Hey, Mick! What happened?”

“Aye, go back to sleep,” Mickey calls back. “You weren’t supposed to be awake yet.”

“Everything okay?” Ian replies, now feeling apprehensive. If one of them had to be the morning person in their relationship, it’s definitely Ian. So that usually means on Thursdays Ian gets out of bed earlier than Mickey to make breakfast, or Mickey helps him out and they make it together.

When Ian receives no immediate reply, he steps out of bed to go check out what’s going on. But as soon as he gets up, his path is quickly blocked by Mickey standing in the doorway holding what looks like a dishtowel in his hands.

“Said go back to sleep, didn’t I?” Mickey says, raising his eyebrows at Ian. He’s wearing his boxers, which isn’t anything unusual – but what catches Ian’s attention immediately is that Mickey’s wearing a goddamn _apron_ over his bare chest. And shit, if that doesn’t give Ian a few ideas.

Ian smirks at the shorter man. “Mickey Milkovich, are you cooking me breakfast?”

Mickey scowls. “Fuck you is what I’m cooking.” He crosses his arms, getting too defensive as per usual.

Ian only grins at him though, and cranes his neck to look around Mickey and towards the kitchen.  “Do you smell toast? Because I think _you’re_ having a stroke of genius if you actually got that broken toaster to work…and somehow cooked eggs too, by the smell of it.”

Mickey uncrosses his arms and smirks at Ian, “Fuck yeah I got that toaster to work. Even your prodigy brother couldn’t fix it.”

Ian laughs. “Yeah, Lip was ready to trash the damn thing,” he squeezes past Mickey and walks towards the kitchen. “What’d you drop, anyway? That crashing noise felt like it shook the apartment.”

Mickey follows Ian into kitchen and heads straight to the frypan.

“Nothin’ man… just,” Mickey hesitates. He looks down, avoiding all eye contact with Ian.

“Mickey?” Ian prompts quietly, when Mickey shows no sign of continuing. “What was it?”

Mickey finally looks up and Ian is almost shocked to see that he’s actually blushing. “Was gonna bring a tray over to the bed. But I dropped it and a few things fell.”

It takes a moment for Ian to realise why Mickey’s so embarrassed. Ian moves forward, stepping closer to Mickey with a smile growing on his face. “You were gonna bring me breakfast in bed?”

“Yeah man. Before I fucked up and tripped,” Mickey shrugs, probably trying to be as casual as possible, but Ian can see right through him. And honestly, Ian’s feeling more than a little shocked and maybe a little giddy, too. Because sure, Mickey’s more romantic than he might like to admit – but he’s never actually done an outright romantic gesture like this.

Ian can’t help it, he grins at Mickey and asks, “So what’s the occasion?”

Mickey scoffs. “The occasion is that I finally fixed that fucked up toaster of ours… Now let’s eat this crap before it gets too cold.”

Ian nods. He leans over to Mickey and kisses him quickly, before turning towards the plates and cutlery that’d been haphazardly set on the counter top. 

It isn’t until later that day when Ian catches a glimpse of the date, that he remembers it’s been exactly a year since they first moved in together.

 


End file.
